


Puncture Repair

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, First Time Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 09:25:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16060226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: Frank's working on some things. Sometimes, though, he just needs someone to lean on. Follow up to 'Come Home'.





	Puncture Repair

Frank has felt so much fear in his life that it lingers, little traces, in every other thing he feels. It suffuses him, so he’s never really calm, never really relaxed. Curt calls it ‘hyper vigilance’ and says its something they can work on, if he wants.

He’s working on a lot of things.

It’s days before Christmas, and half the yards are cluttered with lights and decorations. It’s been three weeks and two days since Frank saw David, and Frank is currently working on getting himself out of the car.

Sarah and the kids aren’t home. David promised they could take it slow with this, and had been impossibly understanding when Frank asked if the first time back there, if it could just be them. Because the idea of walking into that house and seeing David with his family is going to chase him away, and they both understand that. Frank sees something complete and closed when he sees them together, doesn’t understand how they can fit him – doesn’t understand how they could even want to try.

He certainly didn’t believe it when David assured him that Sarah wanted to see him. That she missed him.

Sarah missed Pete, maybe. Missed someone who’d snuck in, like a thief, to get close to her, to have something to hold over her husband. Who had offered comfort in a hard time. Somehow she’s missing the part where Frank could have gotten her husband killed for real. She’s missing the part where Frank’s  _blood brother_  had abducted and could have murdered her and her son. She’s missing the part where Pete was an act (until he wasn’t) and hadn’t ever been meant to mean anything to her.

If he’s honest with himself – and he’s trying to be that, more often now – he’s terrified of seeing her again, of seeing her realize how bad an idea it is for him to be around them. Because Sarah is smart, Sarah is brave and determined and wants to keep her family safe. She’s not like David, too close to see the danger.

His hands flex on the steering wheel, and he can’t help remembering David’s voice on the phone, hearing him for the first time in three weeks.

 _Come home_ , he’d said. Like Frank deserved a place among these people.  _Come home_ , like he was wanted, maybe even needed.

He can’t do this. He can’t be the reason David fucks up the good thing he’s got, he can’t let David keep this space in his heart open for someone as broken and fucked up as Frank is. He goes to put the car back in drive, and that’s when he sees him.

David, not judging, not approaching, just standing on the porch. Frank knows, intuitively, that David won’t blame  _him_  if he does drive off. No, David won’t blame anyone. But it will hurt him, to see Frank pull away.

And maybe that’s the right thing to do. Maybe hurting David now will help the dumbass get over this. Because Frank loves him, and he knows what his love does to people. He sees it every time he tries to sleep. He can’t stand the idea of seeing it happen again, here, in waking.

But when has he ever done the right thing where David is concerned? David had given so much to Frank; his trust, his affection, his fucking blood, pumping through Frank’s veins. Frank takes and takes because he doesn’t know how to stop. He’s greedy for what David offers, for the chance to spend some time being  _alive_  after so long of being dead.

He pockets the keys as he climbs out of the car, and David grins at him like Frank stalking up his street is the best thing he could ever hope to see. He lets Frank get into the house before dragging him into a hug. He clings to Frank’s shoulders, holding him in just such a way that Frank understands he’s not required to participate. His chest clenches sickeningly at the care David is affording him, and he wraps his arms around the man, crushing him close, as if he can punish his kindness with returned affection.

When they finally break apart, David is still grinning. Frank can’t help noticing he’s cleaner than he’d ever seen him, but he hasn’t shaved, hasn’t trimmed his hair. He’d thought that whole look had been part of David’s living rough thing, a lack of self-care that came with paranoia and hiding out in a power station basement. But David stands there, wearing an over-sized sweater rather than his bathrobe, jeans that fit considerably better than anything Frank has seen him in, hair combed into some kind of order and beard neatly trimmed up.

He doesn’t have that edge to him that Frank had become so familiar with, that tension that came with living under stress. He wasn’t looking over his shoulder, wasn’t fidgeting his fingers together, wasn’t looking for an escape. Three weeks home, three weeks with his family, and he’s already settling into some rhythm, already getting better.

Frank’s proud of him all over again, and utters a little laugh when David looks self-conscious. He realized he was probably staring and looked away. For a long moment, they stand together in silence, just inside the door, and then David’s hand is on Frank’s arm, leading him gently, inexorably further into the house. He sits Frank on the couch and leaves him there to grab beer. There’s a certain eagerness to his motions, an energy that Frank can’t help noticing.

It’s almost like David had missed him.

David sets down the beers and sits beside Frank, and they talk about nothing much for a long time. Incrementally, Frank relaxes, and eventually David leans back against the couch, trailing off on some story about Sarah convincing a drunk David to climb onto the roof with her equally drunk self; he’s talking so comfortably about his life, just easy, personal things, and Frank is listening to raptly he’s forgotten to check the door or windows for any sign of trouble for several minutes.

It hits him suddenly, how insanely relaxed he is, and he bows his head, laughing self-consciously. Because it’s David that does it, just David, talking and laughing and sipping surprisingly good beer on a comfortable couch in a nice house in fucking suburbia.

He shouldn’t be here.

Just like that, the anxiety is back, strong and pervasive. He needs to leave, before something bad happens. If he stays, something  _will_.

When David’s hand comes to rest, gently, on his arm, his whole body tenses up, reflex curling his fists as he snaps his head toward David, face an angry mask, warning. David doesn’t even flinch. He looks concerned, though. Not afraid – David’s not afraid of Frank because while David might be a certifiable genius, he’s still an idiot. Frank could kill him in fifteen ways without breaking a sweat, and David  _knows_  that.

His hand strokes over Frank’s arm, and Frank holds his breath. Lets it out. Breathes again.

He’s working on a lot of things. Sometimes, it even seems like he’s getting better.

“You wanna see what I’ve been working on,” David asks, which Frank thinks is a much politer way of saying, ‘get your shit together, Castle’. He nods, and follows David when he rises, heading up the stairs.

David shows him into a room that smells like fresh paint, with a mattress piled in a corner and a bed frame in a state of uneasy half-assembly. There’s a tall dresser on one wall and bedding folded up on the mattress. Frank doesn’t know what it is about the implication of this room that sets his heart thudding, but he hates it.

“What the fuck is this, David,” he grunts out, edging toward the door. David spreads his hands, his expression easy, even a little amused. He’s not pitying or mocking, either of which would have set Frank off at this point. Frank focuses on forcing himself to relax.

“It’s called a spare room, Frank,” David says, patiently and patronizing at the same time, forcing the air in the room to lighten with his stab at humor. Frank’s lip twitches. “Some even call it a ‘guest room’. Guests are people you invite into your house to –”

“I know what guests are, asshole.”

“Well, I just wonder, you know, since you act like you were raised outdoors.”

Frank swipes at David, and David  _laughs_ , easy and unafraid as he back-steps out of Frank’s reach. Frank smiles back, but the expression feels awkward, strained. “You doin’ a lot of entertaining these days, huh?”

“Frank...”

“You realize I don’t need  _shit_  from you, right David?” He snaps, all good humor gone from his face at Lieberman’s gentle, persuasive tone. Because he knows where this goes. He knows. “I’m not a stray you can bring home and rehab into a pet. You can’t fix me and make it safe for me to be around you and your family. You don’t get to do this shit, Lieberman.”

“C’mon, Frank, I’m not –”

“You gonna tell me you came home and started put a fucking spare room together, and it has  _nothing_  to do with you trying to get me to come in and stay, huh? We back to the part where you lie to me, Lieberman?”

“Jesus,  _Frank_ ,” David says, his expression tight. This is a side of David that Frank recognizes. This is David mad that Frank’s being bullheaded and not listening. Frank recognizes it from so many conversations down in that basement. He feels immediately guilty, and that makes him angry. He’s not the one who should be guilty here.

He needs to leave. He should leave. He stands and glares at David instead, feet planted, hands curled. It’s like being back in the power station basement, when he  _had_  no where else to be. Part of him knows he can go at anytime, the rest of him is stripping gears in a war over whether he needs to destroy this  _thing_  happening between him and David before it gets David hurt.

“I know you don’t like things that’re good for you,” David says, his tone rough, and that’s when Frank realizes the man is just as on edge as he is. He’s just as nervous and just as hurt. Frank hasn’t protected him from anything. “Maybe I oughta, you know, take this as a good sign. Frank acted like a jackass about it: must mean it’s a good idea.” He makes a broad gesture with his hands, like he’s reading them off a marquee.

“I don’t like bein’  _manipulated_ , David.” He grinds back, and almost flinches at the look of pained understanding that crosses David’s face.

“You ever get tired of punishing yourself, Frank?”

David’s voice is so gentle and so tired, laced with a bitterness that is so familiar. Frank is used to people giving up on arguing with him. He knows what it sounds like.

“No,” He says sharply, because it’s easier to deny than acknowledge that there’s even a chance that David’s got him figured out.

“Now who’s lying?”

He’s got his fingers tangled in David’s shirt front before he realizes he’s going to move, dragging him in close and turning them so he can push David into the wall. He’s breathing sharply, harshly through his nose, shaking with the effort that it takes to keep his hands from doing anything but hold him there. David doesn’t even flinch. He looks caught off guard but unafraid. He looks too tired, like he’s not getting that much sleep. This close up, those blue eyes are sad after all.

“You gonna hit me, Frank?” David asks. Frank just pushes him harder against the wall, face twisted in a snarl. David smiles very gently, as if, up close, he’s seeing something too. Frank really does flinch when fingers stroke over his cheek, David reaching up to gently frame his face in his hands. “See, I don’t think you are.”

“You don’t know me, David, you think you do, but you don’t  _know_  –”

David drags him in, and Frank lets himself be dragged. The kiss is hot and inevitable and somehow  _furious_. David hums, the sound surprised but accepting when Frank bites at his mouth. His death grip on David’s shirt relaxes, until his hands are just resting over David’s chest, holding him to the wall as David steals his breath. His eyes are blue, so blue; Frank could never look in those eyes and imagine he was with anyone else. No one had eyes like that.

When David finally lets him loose, Frank doesn’t back away. He tilts his face up, leaning in to bump his forehead to David’s, eyes closed, unable to meet that pointed gaze.

“I missed you, Frank.” David says quietly. The words are just for Frank, and they make his chest ache. “I have these dreams sometimes, man, these  _dreams_ , and you don’t come back in a lot of them. I’ve seen you die so many times, Frank,  _so many times_ , and you want me to just forget about you. Move on, come home and act like what we went through was nothing? Was it nothing to  _you_ , Frank?”

 _Hurt him, hurt him, hurt him_. The only way to save him was to hurt him. Push him away. Make him doubt.

Instead he says, “No, David. It wasn’t nothing.”

Fingers brush the back of his head, feeling the close cut of his hair, cradling his skull. A little higher, and David would be settled on the scar that marked Frank’s first death. “Maybe I had this… this fantasy, okay? This hope, you know, that we’d get the room together and you’d  _want_  to stay. But I know you, Frank. I know that scares you, the idea that anybody knows you, but as much as anybody can, I know you. I knew you wouldn’t.”

“David...” The name slips from him like a regret, hanging in the air, and David laughs almost silently, his breath ghosting Frank’s lips. It takes a second for Frank to realize David is laughing at himself, mocking himself.

“But I figured, hey, maybe I’d talk you into staying for dinner some night, and then maybe you’d get drunk after dinner because I sure as shit will, and then I couldn’t let you drive back into the city like that, so you’d just have to say, and the couch is no good for sleeping on and I never use my office…”

“You got a rich fantasy life, Lieberman.”

David chuckles at that, but the way his thumb strokes over Frank’s jawline is thoughtful. When Frank finally opens his eyes, David’s are still focused on him, still tired, still sad. “I just want you to feel like you’re welcome here. Like you have a place.”

“Your family –”

“My family  _adores_  you. Better, they  _trust_  you. Do you have any idea how hard it was to convince them to clear out for the day when I told them you agreed to come over? You think you’re a danger to everyone you meet, but you’re  _not,_  Frank. You’re not a, a fucking  _curse_ , okay?”

Frank has taken so much from David. The worst of it is that, for the most part, David offers it all up for nothing. Like he’s the lucky one, like he needs to coax Frank to be with him.

He shakes his head, just slightly, and David’s fingers curve a little tighter against his skull. “I need to keep you safe.”

“So you abandon us? You really think we’re safer when you’re  _gone_? I know you’re not stupid, Frank, come on.”

“You try and pick fights with your wife like this?”

“Sure,” David grins, “Why don’t you stay and see?”

They kiss again, and Frank’s not sure who initiated. He just knows that this time, he lets his arms slip around, so he can box David in against the wall, pressing up tight against him. He’s a little surprised to feel an undeniable firmness in David’s jeans, but he impulsively reaches between them, rubbing his palm firmly over David’s bulge. “Said you missed me, huh, David?”

“Yeah, Frank, I really did.”

He sounds breathless, excited. Not concerned at all that a murderer is palming his dick. Frank shouldn’t want this so bad, and even if he does, he should have the self control to keep away. David deserves better. Frank still doesn’t know what he deserves.

Squeezing David just lightly extracts a moan, and Frank inhales sharply. He wants, he can’t deny that, and David is looking at him like he’s starving, like he’s starving and Frank is taunting him with scraps. Frank might not  _deserve_  this, but how can he deny giving something to David when he’s taken so much from him?

“How long till Sarah and the kids get home?”

David groans and lifts his hand from where he’s clutching at Frank’s shoulder, checking his watch. Frank helpfully rolls his hand a little firmer against David’s crotch, smirking when David bites his lip and shoots him a scathing look.

“Dick,” David calls him, staring at his watch like he can’t make sense of it. “Uh, Sarah said she’d call in half an hour. Little less.”

“Plenty of time,” Frank says, but still hesitates, working his hand firm and sure against David but otherwise not moving. David’s practically shivering against him, lips parted, eyes half closed. He looks desperate, like he’s been wanting this for a long time and this is the first taste of something he’s never really expected to have. “Tell me what you want, David.”

The man in question just hums, hazy, mouth opening as if to speak before he blushes, and clams up again.

“You never shut up. You tellin’ me this is all I gotta do to make you quiet?”

A little whine, indignant, helpless, and Frank chuckles. “You still think about me suckin’ you off, David?” He asks quietly, moving his hand to pull, carefully, at the button of the fly. The zipper, when he jerks it down, sounds loud in the quiet room. “What was it again? Rough, behind a dumpster? Real romantic imagery, there.”

David’s dick is hot and hard in his hand when he shoves his way past the waistband of his underwear, gripping him firmly. Fingers clutch back to his shoulder, David’s hips twitching into his touch. He leans in, so he’s talking against David’s hair, feeling the softness of those curls as he mutters in David’s ear. “What’s it gonna be, huh? There’s no dumpster, but I know you got a vivid imagination.”

Frank has no experience in sucking dick. Absolutely none. He has, however, had enough blowjobs to know what felt good, and really, was there such a thing as a  _bad_  blowjob? He very much doubts, with the eager little noises David’s making, that the man is going to complain.

“What do you want, David?”

“Frank, if you’re gonna do something  _please_  do it, I can’t, teasing is mean, it’s so mean, c’mon...”

The words leave David in a rush, all part of one breath, and Frank strokes him a little firmer for a second before he finally moves to get on his knees, tugging David’s jeans and boxers down more as he goes.

From this angle, he gets the moose-cock comment. David may be a skinny, mouthy little shit, but he did not unjustly brag. There’s no fucking way that’s all going to fit in Frank’s mouth, but he’s always liked a challenge.

The taste isn’t really anything to comment on, when he takes the head in his mouth and sucks experimentally. The result is David, hissing through his teeth and scrabbling to get his hands locked on Frank’s shoulders again, helplessly bucking forward. Frank has no good excuse as to why that should be the thing about all this that has him suddenly fully hard in his own jeans, but here they are. He positions his hands on David’s hips, digging his thumbs in against the ridge of bone, keeping David pressed back against the wall as he pulled away, sucking sloppily.

David is muttering an apology, ostensibly for trying to choke Frank, and Frank simply starts moving, bobbing his head, never taking him quite as deep as that thrust had sent him, but getting closer. He runs his tongue firmly over the thick shaft, pressing David against the roof of his mouth and listening to David moan.

Yeah, there’s no such thing as a bad blowjob.

He falls into a rhythm, finally moving one hand to squeeze and tug at the length he couldn’t take, focused only on making David as noisy as possible. The fingers clutching to his shoulders shift, pressing into the back of his neck for a moment before finally skating up into his hair. It’s longer than it had been, but not long enough for David to really get a grip.

“Holy shit, Frank, Frank, oh god,” David babbles, and Frank can hear the soft thunk of his head hitting the wall behind him. The image of David like that, leaning against the wall, head tossed back, knees shaking as he fought not to thrust into Frank’s mouth – that did something for Frank. He moaned around David’s cock, pulling back to try and catch his breath while David gasped. Fingers press a little harder on his scalp for a second, like David’s trying to keep him, but they quickly slacken, letting him sit back on his heels.

Looking up at David, seeing him unraveling, body slumped into the wall and face creased in want, makes Frank feel too many things, twisted up and complex, things he doesn’t want. Want and guilt and awe and nerves. He doesn’t have the self control required to keep his hand from pumping David’s length as he watches him tense and arch, watches him moan against his hand as if to smother the sound. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this, but he’s already started and won’t quit in the middle.

He leans in and licks from where his fist clutches to the head, and then swallows him in one move. David barks out a low noise, slamming the hand that had been against his lips into the wall, like he’s overwhelmed, like he can’t help it. It doesn’t take much after that before David’s choking on words and shoving at Frank’s shoulder in warning.

Frank doesn’t quite get out of the line of fire quick enough, catching a splatter of come on his cheek, making a face at the hot, slick feeling even as he strokes David through it, watching his face. He looks utterly done in, and there’s a certain pride in seeing he’d done that to this man.

When David finally looks at him and cracks a smile, expression blissed out and not quite together, like his brain is rebooting, Frank snorts and paws at the wet on his face, smearing it away with distaste. Which really only meant he now needed to wash his hands  _and_  his face, but ah well.

“C’mon, Lieberman,” he growls as he gets to his feet, surprised to find his voice sounds a little rougher now. He can’t help smiling a little, in spite of himself. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

David tucks himself away absently, hitching his jeans back up, and Frank thinks that’s going to be that, turning away to find something to wipe up the mess left on the floor. David snakes an arm around his shoulders before he can get far, stepping in close behind him, pulling Frank against his chest. The hand not on his shoulder slips around his waist, heading lower, David humming something almost like a purr when he finds Frank still hard in his trousers.

“ _David_ ,” the name comes out of him like a warning, tense and brittle.

“Lemme do this for you, Frank,” David says softly, and he’s begging, quiet and restrained but it’s still  _begging_ , pleading to be allowed to touch him. “You’re always  _giving_  for me. You never take. It’s not right. Lemme do this.”

The words tangle and snarl in Frank’s chest, impossible to comprehend. David couldn’t honestly believe that, and yet his grip on Frank was tight, his tone far from mocking. Frank finds himself nodding slowly, apprehensive but  _wanting_.

“I know you’re thinking too much now,” David says, fumbling with the trick of Frank’s zipper. “You get this  _look_ , like – there we go – like you’re putting salt in your own wounds. I want this, Frank, c’mon, don’t tell me you don’t too.”

Frank finds himself leaning into David, grunting out a low noise that would have been a moan if he can’t caught it in his teeth and killed it. His hips want to jerk up into David’s hand when he pulls his cock out, thumbing over the head and tugging him in easy, firm strokes, but he holds himself perfectly still. One of his hands settles on David’s forearm, feeling the play of muscle as his hand moves; the other clenches and unclenches rhythmically at his side.

“You’re not a machine, Frank,” David mumbles, settling his chin on Frank’s shoulder, holding him close and warm, hips firm against Frank’s ass. “You’re human, and you’re good, and you deserve this.”

Curling his fingers tighter against David’s arm has the desired effect of getting his hand to speed up, his words fading. It’s been a long time. Such an incredibly long time since anyone has touched him like this. “Fuck,” he manages, but that’s not what he wants to say, it’s not enough. “ _David_.” Closer.

“I got you, Frank, right? I got you, I always got you. Is this good?”

“Yeah,” the word comes out faint, barely any breath behind it. “Yeah, s’good.”

David holds him through his climax, only pulling away when Frank squeezes his arm again and forces himself to stand straight, no longer leaning his weight into David.

They’re in the bathroom, washing up, when David’s phone rings. Whatever David was saying about the hot water being on the fritz again dies off, Frank pausing as he dries his hands and watching David grin and put the phone to his ear.

“Hey… yeah. No it’s been good. Yeah. Yeah. Still here. Oh, yeah, I know. Me too.”

It’s the first time Frank’s ever been consciously aware of wanting to hear both sides of the phone conversation. He can see Sarah’s smile too easily in his mind.

“Well, I can ask. I mean it’s… yeah, yeah, right. Lemme ask.” David holds the phone away from his face and meets Frank’s eyes, his brows drawn up. “Sarah wants to know – well, honestly, we both wanna know – if you’d be comfortable staying long enough to see the kids before you leave. They miss you.”

 _Maybe next time_ , Frank wants to say, feeling a jittery uncertainty building in his chest. Something bad would happen. Something bad always happened. He should leave now and throw away that damn cell phone and never come back here. Cut himself off, before he hurt these people worse.

But that’s not right, either. That’s guilt and trauma and anxiety. Maybe he doesn’t deserve to be welcomed so easily into the Liebermans’ lives, but they  _want him here_.

What does he want?

“We could do dinner,” he says, the words coming much easier than he thought they would. “I’d buy pizza.”

David’s grinning suddenly, his expression caught off guard but transported with happiness. Frank makes a show of rolling his eyes and shaking his head, so that his own smile isn’t as noticeable, and then he’s snatching the wash cloth out of the shower to go wipe their messes off the floor.

“He wants to stay for dinner,” He hears David report, something that can only be described as giddiness tightening his words. “No, he said… yeah. No, I don’t think he gets the concept of ‘baby steps’. Okay. Yeah, see you in a bit,  _b’sheret_.”

Cleaning up the floor of the spare room takes only a few seconds, but Frank lingers, letting David finish his conversation. Before he can turn around to take the washrag back to the bathroom, David is wrapping arms around him again, pulling him close.

“They’re gonna be here in fifteen minutes. Not enough time for real afterglow, but...”

“I’m holdin’ a washcloth full of come, David, and you just got off the phone with your wife. I think afterglow’s done.”

David laughs and backs off, letting Frank head back to the bathroom to rinse out the cloth before throwing it into the hamper. He notices David leaning against the bathroom doorway and feels his hands twitch a little before he turns toward him again.

“So...” David says slowly, backing up out of Frank’s way, letting him pass. “You’re a little tense, and I get that. This was, uh –”

“It was good, David,” Frank says firmly, one step down the stairs. “Are you gonna come sit with me on the couch or what?”

And there’s that grin again, so sweet and happy, Frank can’t help but shake his head. They settle on the couch and Frank finishes his beer. There’s plenty of time in fifteen minutes to rethink offering to stay, plenty of minutes to think about bolting. David wouldn’t stop him. David wouldn’t even blame him.

So he stays. He has to.

He wants to.


End file.
